


Second Options & Second Chances

by kyrieanne



Series: Her Guys [2]
Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: When Dalton's team returns stateside it feels like the advent of something new for Hannah, though she doesn't know what.





	Second Options & Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot slots between Chapters 8 & 9 of Her Guys, but it can be read independently or not at all of the main story. 
> 
> Nicole, I know I promised you one thing and instead you got this. I hope you don't mind.

When the team lands stateside, Hannah feels the same thrum of excitement rush through her she used to experience out in the field. Well, almost. Walking the halls of the DIA in heels just can’t quite compete with her former life, but sitting on the edge of her seat as Dalton and his team execute missions she’s helped plan? It’s a good second option. 

That’s what her life is now – a second option. 

Her mother calls it a second chance. 

Bless her mother. Ximena Rivera is a dedicated optimist, her demeanor as bright as lemons and kind as all mothers should be. Her mother doesn’t know how Hannah’s body came to be carved up, but she was there in the hospital. She drove Hannah to appointments in the early days after she was released. She found her in the dressing room of Ann Taylor in the midst of a panic attack the first time they went shopping, and Hannah discovered she wasn’t ready to wear anything that showed the wicked curved scar on her neck. There’d been nothing gentle then as her mother crawled under the door when Hannah couldn’t get the latch open. The sales woman had yelled and Ximena cursed her in Spanish as she soothed the sweaty hair off her daughter’s head. 

“No estas solo,” her mother had said, “te tengo.” 

Hannah loves her mother – and her father and her baby brother – so she doesn’t correct them when they call it her second chance. They help move her into her apartment in D.C. and spend a week dragging her to all the museums. Then they load up and drive back to their life in upstate New York, and Hannah sleeps on her couch because it feels more temporary than the bed and she isn’t ready for this second option to be real. 

By the time Dalton and his team rotate home, she’s settled into her life in D.C., at least she’s made peace with the fact that this second option is her reality. She’s stopped dreaming of the field most nights. She has a go-to Mexican place and a favorite coffee shop to frequent on Saturday mornings before she goes into the office. Noah is a face that feels familiar and when her parents ask if she’s made friends she tells them yes and thinks of him. She likes D.C. with its monuments and the wide Potomac with the row teams practicing as the sun sinks down over Georgetown. Half the time she even manages to sleep in that impossibly wide bed her mother insisted she buy. 

“A grown-up woman needs a grow-up bed for when gentlemen come calling,” she nudged Hannah at the mattress store. Thankfully her father had been kicking the floor model and hadn’t heard her. 

Then she’d gone to Columbia. It’d been like a strange fever dream. To be out in the field again had felt right and good until she’d returned to her second option life and she almost wished it had been a dream. She avoids that big bed for weeks afterwards. It isn’t her; it belongs in her parents’ too big house on the cul-de-sac Hannah loves, but doesn’t want. She tries to tell herself she’s being ridiculous, but her anxiety wins out. She breaks down and buys one of those blow up air mattresses to sleep on in her living room. At night, she curls on her side and reads intelligence reports in the blue light of her tablet. She even buys new bedding for the air mattress as if this is going to be an on-going reality, but she does it because this is her second-option. 

Ideal and reasonable and sane no longer apply. 

So having her team home – because that’s how she thinks of them – feels like the advent of something new. Preach is going to be okay and she’s finally going to meet Jaz, the one team member who has remained a face and voice through her screen. Their first morning stateside, Hannah smiles to herself when she gets to the DIA. She’s looking forward to Joseph and teasing Amir and the way Dalton brings out something in Patricia Hannah likes to see in their boss – something motherly but unlike Hannah’s own mother. She can’t quite name what it is.  
As she heads toward the assigned briefing room, Hannah bites the insides of her cheeks to keep her face even and professional. 

That’s another part of her second option life that she’s noticed. Her emotions are closer to the surface than when she was undercover. She can still school them when she needs to, but she has to stop and think about it. That razor sharp edge she honed in the field is being worn down and what is left is a smile she bites back because it makes her feel further away from who she used to be; it makes her feel like everyone else. A smile, she knows, is considered a good thing even if it feels like a second choice. 

*** 

After the first full day of debrief Hannah is going to suggest they all go out to dinner when Jaz looks at Dalton and says, “Hospital?” 

Hannah bites her tongue because of course that’s where they need to go. Preach arrived today and his wife had texted the team to say he is settled and comfortable. 

Noah and Patricia are bent over his computer as Dalton and his team wave goodbye. They barely look up and Hannah forces herself to look at her own phone so she doesn’t look disappointed. She knows no one else will notice her feelings humming beneath the surface; she’ll deal with them when she gets home. 

But still – she feels foolish for thinking that the team coming stateside was going to mean anything different for her. She lives here, in D.C., in a world of sameness and comfort. You can get any food with the tap of your phone and you can sit for hours in traffic trying to go just a few miles. That is her world now. 

“Can I get your number?” 

The voice is soft and male. Hannah’s head jerks up. There’s Amir. He sinks down into the chair next to her and holds out his own phone. 

“In case we need someone to show us where the best places to eat are,” he adds and she notices that when he’s nervous the tips of his ears turn pink. 

“Oh,” she says, “of course.” 

She tells him her phone number and he texts her so she has his number. He includes a waving emoticon in the text. Then Jaz calls his name and he leaves with a half-apologetic shrug. 

Hannah smiles and this one she doesn’t bother to hold back. 

*** 

The night Patricia has the team over for dinner Hannah pulls out a red dress from the back of her closet. She’s not sure why except she feels like wearing it. It’s from before - off the shoulder and flirty – and she’d forgotten she still owns it. But before she can think too hard about it she puts it on, keeps her hair and makeup easy, and opts for flats instead of heels. It isn’t until later than she thinks about why. 

When she arrives, McG whistles and Dalton stands up because he’s that kind of guy. Hannah is pretty sure there is a sister out there somewhere who drummed that habit into him. They both greet her with a light hug. Noah half-waves to her and Hannah hugs him too. Hannah is already glad for tonight because outside of the DIA she feels like Dalton’s team is easier going. These are the guys she met in Columbia, ones for whom their element in the field and the maze of hallways and bureaucrats feels foreign. 

Hannah finds Patricia in the kitchen overseeing the caterers laying out the food in succinct Patricia fashion. She hands her boss the bottle of wine she brought and in return gets raised eyebrows and a nod of approval. 

“I like your dress,” Patricia says and in-between the words is her recognition that the dress isn’t just about the dress. Patricia winks, “Hey Amir, don’t you like Hannah in red?” 

One of the caterers moves and Hannah sees Amir just as he looks up. She watches him take her in and it takes practice from her days in the field not to move when the being object of someone’s gaze like that. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it is unexpected. He sees her and his usually practiced face goes blank. Out of the corner of her eye, Patricia smiles and then with a wave of her hand she and caterers take platters of appetizers out to the living room. 

Hannah rocks in her flats and Amir blinks. 

“I think I was helping with those,” he points after the now gone appetizers. 

“I think you got replaced,” she says, “Too slow. Gotta keep up.” 

He laughs and scratches an ear, “I might be a bit out of my element.” 

She bites her lip because she isn’t quite sure if he’s flirting with her. 

This is Amir. She’s read his file and coached him through life and death situations, but that’s with thousands of miles between them. She met him in Columbia, but that had been work and here he is – here they all are – in her second option life, and in that moment Hannah feels how much she wants to be their friend. It steals her breath. But also it’s the man in front of her that surprises her. He is a professional invisible man. He can be anything, anyone, he wants. His eyes dart to the neckline of the red dress and the tips of his ears turn pink. She’s trying to decide if she wants to flirt back on the chance she’s reading him wrong when McG calls out.

“Al-Raisani, I’m about to tell an embarrassing story about you. Come here!” 

Amir closes his eyes for a second, “Oh, Joseph.” 

*** 

Jaz doesn’t come to dinner, and Hannah sees the way Dalton tucks his chin when Patricia reads the hurried off text from the team’s sniper. Noah looks at her as if to ask if he’s missing some key piece of information, and Hannah can’t do anything but shrug. The other woman has been cool and polite for the past two days, and while Hannah is disappointed at the lack of opportunity to get to know her better, she knows not to read too much into that. 

Neither Amir nor McG seem fazed by the extra empty seat at the table. McG mutters maybe Jaz got lucky and Amir elbows him. Hannah sees their eyes glance toward Dalton and she considers what she hadn’t realized before. If there is something there it would explain Dalton’s desperation in Tehran. Hannah tucks the information away knowing that whatever is in the looks going around the table she isn’t privy to the full-story. 

So, she asks what they are all going to do for their time off and it pulls the dinner conversation out of melancholy. Hannah finds herself liking this night best of all her nights since moving to D.C. This one feels like the part of normal she wants. 

It's McG who suggests they go out for a drink after the party ends. Dalton waves off citing paper work so it’s Hannah, Noah, McG, and Amir. She picks a bar near her place because she knows they’ll be able to hear each other there. They pile into an Uber. The four of them are a tight fit in the backseat, and Hannah ends up between the door and Amir. The door handle bites into her hip as they pull on to the interstate. She hisses when they go through a pothole. McG and the driver are carrying on loudly about some sports team and Noah is on his phone. 

“Here, let’s get you better situated,” Amir says with his head bent toward her. 

His hand reaches for her waist, but he waits for her nod before touching her. Even then it’s brief and efficient. He scoots so her legs can hook over his knee and her back is against the glass of the door. It’s not terribly comfortable, but it is better and Hannah tells herself again not to read too much into it. Her legs are barely touching any part of him and it’s not like he pulled her onto his lap. He keeps his hands to himself and she frowns. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what she’s feeling. 

They end up at the bar and Amir falls into step so he’s right beside her. McG is trying to convince Noah that he’s a great wingman. 

“Just ask Jazzy. If she wants to get laid she gets me to scope out the pickings for her.” 

“Somehow I doubt she needs his help,” Hannah mutters as she hands over cash for her cover and she is rewarded with a grin from Amir. 

The bar has live music and is full of D.C. types in prolonged happy hour mode. As they walk inside, Hannah touches her neck and inwardly curses. She’d forgotten her scars and this ridiculous flirty red dress. She’s more comfortable than she used to be and showing up at work with the line of her neck visible feels part of her uniform – this isn’t the DIA and there is nothing quiet about the dress. It’s the kind of thing you wear when you want to be looked at. 

And as if on cue, Hannah feels the weight of men’s gaze on her, and she catches the eye of one as he appreciates the line of her body and the dress – and the moment he sees her scars goosebumps lift on her skin and she inhales sharp. She tries to tell herself that it doesn’t matter what a random man in a suit thinks of her. This is D.C. and not her world, but in that moment, she feels exposed and that’s all that matters. 

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Amir says. He’s a half-step behind her so she looks back over her shoulder at him, “I agree with Patricia. You look good in red.” 

The kindness of him saying so just then blooms in her chest, and she feels seen instead of stared at. That’s when she decides she likes Amir Al-Raisani, whoever he is. 

*** 

McG decides that Noah needs to learn how to pick up women. 

“Listen, one-night stands are not to be underestimated,” the medic holds up both hands and the entire table shares a look. A part of Hannah thrills because she’s missed this part of being part of a team – the laughter and joke between missions – and she decides not to think about it too much. 

Tonight, she has it. Be thankful for that. 

“You do you, McG,” Amir settles back with his tall glass of water. 

“Forget Mister Rogers over here,” McG claps Noah on the shoulder, “there are at least two women over at that bar who’ve been checking you out. Let’s go practice.” 

Then they’re gone and it’s just Hannah and Amir sitting a few respectable inches apart and she focuses on how the ice in her drink has melted. The happy hum in her veins can’t just be the alcohol, she decides. So, she leans toward Amir rather than away. 

“What’s it like?” she shout-whispers. 

“What what like?” 

“Being part of the team? Looks like you’re finally one of them.” 

Amir tucks his chin, “Jaz no longer hates me so if we’re measuring by that then I guess I am.”  
He shifts an inch closer to her, “How about you? We joined around the same time. How does it feel?” 

“It’s not the same. I’m not in the field.” 

Amir considers this and she likes that aspect of him. There’s little that he doesn’t consider. And for that reason – and also because maybe there is more alcohol in her system than she realizes – she downs her drink and confesses the thing that stands between him and her. 

“I was there,” she puts a hand to her temple and closes her eyes for the briefest of moments and then she meets his gaze, “I mean I wasn’t there there, but it felt like I was. In Paris. When you killed Omar Galloul. I heard what you said.” 

Yes, I’m the traitor. I have devoted my life to bringing down men like you, and I’m not going to sleep until all of you are in the hell you deserve.

This time the tips of Amir’s ears don’t turn pink; he doesn’t blush or tuck his chin. He holds her gaze and Hannah says the next part in a rushed exhale, “I envy you. Getting to be out there. Making it real – those things you swear to live your life by.” 

She touches her scar as if to silently to tell him the rest of the story, and he shifts another inch closer. It’s not a move, but rather the natural tug of two people with something very important in common. 

“What’s your favorite thing about being in the field?” he asks and it’s the perfect follow-up to her saying something that is far too heavy for two drinks at a bar in D.C. surrounded by suits and McG shouting across the bar when Noah scores the phone number of a blonde grad student. She answers him and they leave the admission on the table for later. 

At some point, he gets her another drink and a tall glass of water, and then later he brings back fried pickles after she cooed as a waitress carried some by. She eats them and drinks the water, but keeps her grip on the cocktail because it’s making her brave like she used to be. She leans her shoulder into his and when he finally shifts that final inch so their hips brush Hannah wishes she could freeze the moment. 

She wants to hold her hands above her head in a triumphant V like McG had done when Noah exited the bar with the blonde. In her imagination, McG would high-five her before going back to the red head he’s busied himself with at the bar. Instead, Hannah downs her fourth drink and pushes the glass away. 

“I think I’ve had enough,” she says, and then before she loses her nerve she says the other thing she wants to tell him, “I smiled. When Mina asked Jaz who you were, and you answered someone who cares. Something about the way you said it. So matter of fact, but also awkward. Right after you’d gutted this man. It made me smile. Cause being in the field is like that. It’s not a movie. It’s intense and awkward at the same time. I think the word I’m looking for is surreal.” 

Amir scoots her water glass an inch closer to her and she drinks. A part of her brain is screaming because why is she telling this man the things inside her head? He is both her teammate and a stranger. She’s talking about him killing a man, recalling overhearing his deepest demons, and making it about how it made her feel - all in the middle of a bar in D.C. as if they are two lawyers or lobbyists, or even those Virginian housewives she spots over in the corner eyeing Amir despite how he leans into Hannah. 

“That was the first time I felt part of the team,” he says. “Not cause of what I did, but how they stepped up. Jaz was right there. She took over and later once we got back to base she and I talked. It was good. I understood her better after Paris. After that, I belonged.” 

Hannah twists her water glass and it leaves wet circles of condensation on the table. Amir rests his hand next to her own so that their wrists skim. His brown skin next to her own. She notices the dark hair peaking out of his button-down shirt, and she smiles. He doesn’t belong in shirts with cuffs any more than she does in heels walking through the halls of the DIA. 

Suddenly, Hannah is tired and a part of her brain knows it’s the alcohol, but it feels heavier than that. She’s tired of pretending this second option life is good enough. She sighs and Amir seems to understand the night is over. He hails McG, who disentangles with his red head, and together they get Hannah home. 

She knows she’s drunk so she tries to steady herself, but when Amir wraps his arm around her waist she leans into him, and she doesn’t question why it’s Amir who walks her up to her apartment rather than McG. She drops her keys trying to unlock her apartment door and he picks them up. 

“May I?” he asks just like he did earlier in the evening in the Uber. She nods and he unlocks her apartment door. He pushes the door open and steps back so she can pass. He hovers there in the doorway as Hannah leans on the frame. She wiggles out of her flats and her gaze at his brown eyes, the stubble on his face, and the hollow of his throat – none of that changes. It’s then that she realizes she wore flats tonight because of him. Because height isn’t everything. She wrinkles her nose and laughs. 

“What?” he asks softly. 

“Nothing I want to tell you,” she says. 

“I have a hard time believing that,” he smiles. “You seem very good at telling me things.” 

“That’s the alcohol.” 

“That’s you.” There’s a beat and his voice softens even more, if that’s possible. “Hannah, may I come in?” 

The sober panic in her eyes must have been immediate because he steps toward her with a shushing sound in his throat. Not the kind to keep her quiet. A forbidden memory of Vargez shushing her and her having to swallow the protest rises up and Hannah shudders. The shushing from Amir is to comfort. 

“I don’t make a move on a woman when she’s not in full control,” he says gently. Again, he doesn’t touch her and again the fact registers in her brain. “I just want to make sure you get a glass of water and are comfortable.” 

Hannah musters a nod and he follows her into her apartment. She stops shy of the air mattress. Apparently, her brain isn’t too addled to forget it is there in the middle of her living room. 

But Amir doesn’t know the extent of Hannah’s crazy and he walks right into it. He makes an inelegant oof and then his foot catches in the blanket dragging on the ground and he topples sideways, rolling into the middle of her bed, and Hannah laughs. 

A man she would happily climb -- a man who she thinks might actually be her equal – is in the middle of her bed out-of-breath and hair tousled, but it is the least sexy thing she’s seen in a long while. She laughs until tears brim, and she laughs even harder when his first attempt to right himself doesn’t quite work as planned. 

She hiccups, “I’m not laughing at you.” 

“Yeah, yeah you’re laughing with me,” he says dryly. 

“Really, it’s not you.” 

He manages to extricate himself from the bed and huffs, “Please don’t say it’s not you, it’s me.” 

The words sober Hannah and she finds her footing there in her apartment living room. She flexes her feet on the hardwood floor over her apartment. A stray thought thinks she should probably buy a rug before winter comes. But she pushes everything aside – her distractions and doubts – and she catches Amir Al-Raisani by the hand. Her fingers circle around his wrist and she likes the smoothness of the inside of his arm with the contrast of the hair on his hand. 

“I like you,” she says. 

In the moment, wearing that flirty red dress, Hannah doesn’t think too hard about the fact that she’s living her second option life now. The old Hannah would have done this hours ago in the bar. She’d have brought him home and they’d have made love in her too big bed that wouldn’t feel too big to sleep-in. That Hannah hadn’t been lost. She would have followed her gut and taken a chance on this man who is so good at being everyone else. 

But tonight has proven it’s impossible to recover that Hannah. Instead, she’s the woman self-conscious in the bar, spilling out thoughts at inappropriate times, and bedding men by accident because she has an inflatable mattress in her living room. 

But there is one thing that is true no matter who she is. 

“I like you.” 

*** 

He calls her mid-morning and when she groans into the phone he tries to hold back his laughter.

 

“I wanted to see how you’re feeling,” he says. 

Hannah presses a hand to her eyes to block out the light filtering through her shades. “I am too old to feel like this.” 

“There’s a bottle of aspirin on your coffee table,” he says, “and an extra bottle of water. Some crackers too if getting out of bed is too much effort.” 

“You’re a saint.” 

“I think we both know I’m not.” 

Snippets of their conversation at the bar press at the front of Hannah’s mind like a stamp and she groans again, “Did I seriously bring up Paris last night?” 

“Yeah,” he says and there’s a pause as he searches for a follow-up. “It was nice to talk about being in the field with someone who gets it.” 

“Again, way too nice.” She mutters and there’s a lull in the conversation. If she weren’t hung over she might have rushed to fill it, but she is still sleepy. She burrows deeper into her pillow with the phone tucked close. 

“Hannah, are you going back to sleep?” 

“Ahhuh,” she says. 

“Can I bring you dinner?” 

“Ahhuh.” 

“What time?” 

“Ahhuh.” 

***

There’s a knock nearby or far away somewhere. Hannah isn’t sure. She sits up and the light in her apartment is purple. Either it’s just before sunrise or sunset. The knock repeats soft and rapt.  
She remembers a phone conversation with Amir and something about dinner. 

Shit. Hannah scrambles across the air mattress and yanks open the door just as he is about to knock a third time. 

“You’re still wearing the dress.” 

“You brought my favorite Mexican food.” 

It dawns on her what he said and she looks down. She is indeed still wearing the flirty red dress. Except now it is rumpled and Hannah screws up her face. 

“How did I even sleep in this?” 

She steps aside so Amir can come in and this time he skillfully navigates around the air mattress and toward her kitchen. 

“Apparently very well if you’re just now waking up,” he offers. 

Hannah finds a hair tie on the counter and piles her hair up on her head. She pulls out plates as he unpacks the food. 

“The rule is if you’re wearing a dress and you’re drunk you strip before you go to bed. Much more comfortable.” 

Amir coughs and Hannah pretends not to notice. She makes them margaritas – virgin for him – and they sit at her tiny table as the last of the sun sinks beneath the horizon. 

Her Columbia Heights apartment doesn’t afford panoramic views of anything in particular, but it does overlook the street below full of people moving from shops to the metro station and families in search of dinner after long days. The bustle filters up because Hannah cracks the window, and as they eat they chat about D.C. Amir is more familiar with New York City than D.C., which surprises Hannah since he’s CIA. 

“What about your time at the Farm?” 

“My family keeps an apartment in New York so when I wasn’t training I’d go up there.” 

She eyes him at the words keeps an apartment, but she decides discussion of families is more than she wants to wade into hungover, wearing a rumpled dress, and eating Mexican food. 

“Is that where you’ll spend leave?” 

Amir shakes his head, “Usually I go back home, but my parents are traveling so I thought I’d do the same. See parts of the States I’m less familiar with.” 

“You should start here,” Hannah says, “with D.C.” 

She looks down purposefully because she doesn’t want to see his expression, but when he agrees a beat later, she smiles. 

*** 

Amir stays, and when Hannah mentions that to Patricia she pretends to not notice the director’s smile. The debrief is over, but Dalton, McG, and Amir linger in D.C. because of Preach. The doctors are waiting to bring him out of his medically induced coma so there are days to fill. Hannah has reports to write, but Amir peppers her days with texts of his time playing tourist with Dalton and McG. 

_Amir: Checked off the National Archives; McG asked Top if we could steal the Declaration of Independence. Neither Top nor the guards appreciated. ___

____

____

_Amir: Don’t tell anyone, but I loved the dish room at the American History museum._

_Amir: We’re trying to decide between Good Stuff and We, the Pizza, care to be the deciding vote?_

She ends up meeting them at the We, the Pizza near Capitol Hill and by the time she gets there they’ve finished off several growlers worth of beer and wings. 

“Where’s Noah?” McG calls out as she approaches their table. 

“Date with that blonde you hooked him up with.” Hannah says. Amir stands and gestures toward his chair. He’s already gone to find a new one before she can protest. 

McG swings his arms and Hannah bets he’s had plenty to drink, “Does he not understand the idea of a one-night stand? It’s one night.” 

“Not everyone shares your proclivities.” Top mutters into his stein. 

Hannah knows them well enough now to catch the gleam in McG’s eye when he says, “Where is Jaz when I need her? She’d understand.” 

Dalton doesn’t react, but no one expects him to. He’s trained not to, but he does efficiently hand Hannah a menu and neatly side-step the whole topic of their missing sniper. 

“Your choice on the pies,” he says, “these two have already stuffed their faces full of wings.” 

It’s a good night with these three and Hannah finds herself thinking of Jaz, who remains this looming presence over this team in the wake of her going dark. That’s what Amir calls it. He’s confessed to her via texts late at night that he and McG worry. Top hasn’t made contact, and for him that is unusual. Hannah half-wishes she was dealing with gossipy old women because then she could extract the truth between the lines, but Amir doesn’t spill secrets that aren’t his to say. 

Still, she’s an analyst for a reason and Hannah can put two and two together. Amir and McG wouldn’t worry if Dalton’s inaction didn’t speak volumes. Patricia knows where Jaz is and if there was any real cause for concern the director would act. So wherever the other woman is, Hannah knows, it’s personal. 

She thinks of her air mattress and how Amir never commented on it. He didn’t ask why she slept in her living room when she has a perfectly good bed a room away. Their kind of work does this to you – it makes the personal hard. She wonders if that’s what bothers Adam Dalton; whatever Jaz Kahn is doing is personal and he doesn’t like being shut out. They all know that is hard work made harder by who they each are. 

If she were writing an intelligence profile she’d write: 

Subject A is driven by a desire to make things “right” for others. With Subject B this looks like being both her commanding officer, but also “something else.” The “something else” remains undefined for him, and in the meantime, he especially resents being shut out by Subject B when she is hurting. This underscores his vulnerability when it comes to Subject B. She is her own category. This may be a liability or an asset. 

It’s more a guess more than a theory, but Hannah wonders if she’s right or if her imagination is bored from too many months sitting behind a desk. McG challenges Amir to a pinball game and Amir winks at her as he stands. 

Dalton flags down a waiter and Hannah orders for all of them. She opts for wine, but sips it slowly, determined not to repeat the night of Patricia’s party. She and Dalton sit comfortably at the table in silence as the restaurant buzzes around them. He is a still man, she thinks, quiet and watching. It’s part of what makes him good at what he does, but she wonders where it leaves him at the end of the day. 

“Amir said he’s going to stay in D.C. a while,” Dalton says. 

Hannah nods, “He mentioned that. D.C.’s a great town to play tourist in.” 

“How about for living?” 

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs. “It’s more comfortable than the field so it’s hard to complain.” 

“We all have to come home eventually.” 

Do we? Hannah doesn’t voice what is in her head this time. She doesn’t feel the need to put thoughts into words like she has with Amir. Instead, she decides to test her theory. 

“Where is Jaz’s home?” Hannah makes her voice light, “I was wondering the other night when we were talking about what you guys are gonna do on leave. No one mentioned her plans.” 

Dalton shakes his head, “That’s her business.” 

Hannah brings her wine glass to her lips, “Is it?” 

Adam Dalton is good, but so is Hannah. The corners of his mouth tighten and Hannah smiles to herself because she hasn’t lost her touch after all. 

*** 

They fall into a rhythm – Amir and Hannah – after the rest of the team disburses. On their last night together in D.C. Amir invites Hannah, Noah, and Patricia to join them in Preach’s hospital room. He picks up Peruvian food from a place she recommends and she gets to meet Maggie and the girls. There are stories and Hannah notices that Dalton, Amir, and McG all seem to exhale a little deeper now that they can see for themselves he will be alright. It’s another good night and Hannah marks it in her calendar app with a note saying as such. She goes back and adds the night at Patricia’s house and getting pizza with the guys too. She doesn’t know exactly why she’s counting, but it feels important to do so. 

She’s so lost in her head that she forgets her purse in Preach’s room so she goes back up after everyone else has said their good-byes. She stops short of the doorway when she hears Patricia and Preach’s voices low. 

“She’s safe, right?” Preach asks. 

“I know her location and generally what she’s up to. She’s safe.” Patricia says. 

“What about Adam?” 

“I offered to tell him, but he said he didn’t need to know.” 

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” 

“I do.” 

There’s a pause and Hannah imagines Preach is choosing carefully what he says next, “Since Vallins died, things are different…” 

Patricia stops him, “Ezekiel, you know how you have teenage daughters who think you don’t see everything, but you do?” 

“Lord, I hope so.” 

“It’s the same with my team. I see more than you think. I trust Dalton. He’s not going to put any of you at risk. Once he gets things clear in his head then we’ll deal with the change.” 

“It’s coming for all of us, change.” 

“Same applies to you. Recover. Get your head clear and then we’ll talk.” 

Hannah can hear Patricia gather up her things and she starts to duck into a darkened doorway so not to be caught eavesdropping, but then Preach says something that stops her. 

“I have this memory of Jaz saying something to me,” he says, “I can’t remember when she’d have said it and it makes me think it was when I was under. Crazy as that sounds.” 

“You’re a man of faith. It doesn’t sound crazy at all.” 

“She said it used to be enough, being alone, waiting for the next deployment.” 

Those words, spoken by a woman Hannah barely knows, prick tears from her. Those words could be her words. They are her words. She knows the field isn’t paradise and that one reason she doesn’t want to sleep in that big bed by herself is because it makes her feel lonely when before she never did. She thinks of Dalton’s words the night they went out for pizza: we all have to come home eventually. 

Part of her wants to yell and scream that isn’t true, but she knows it is. Those who don’t come home become like Hoffman, dead men walking, and while she aches for the field she also likes some parts of her life in D.C. It isn’t where she is that is the problem. It’s who she is. It’s someone new. 

For some reason she thinks of Amir, the invisible man, and she wonders what he’d say about her dilemma – how to find that core of who you are when everything about your life changes in an instant? Because that is what happened the moment Vargas sunk a knife into her skin. 

Hannah is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Patricia come out of Preach’s room. 

“Hannah, good night,” the director says with a gentle smile. She hands Hannah her purse and leaves it at that. She makes her way to the elevator, and Hannah is left feeling dumbstruck. 

What Patricia Campbell had said to Preach really is true. She sees more than they realize. 

*** 

Hannah doesn’t know what to call it, what she and Amir fall into. It’s a rhythm, but without definition. He rents an Air BnB and he spends his days doing the kind of things Hannah had in her recovery, simple things like tourist watching and reading books that you can finish in a day. She knows the routine well; leave is for things that remind you that you’re human. 

And every afternoon Hannah receives a text asking her if she’d like to have dinner with him. The text itself varies, but it is always stated in such a way that Hannah feels like she is being asked. They aren’t dates, but they aren’t casually hanging out either. She tells herself not to overthink it. He is visiting her city and they have a lot in common; it’s natural for them to spend time together. If Amir were interested in taking her out she has no doubt he would make it clear that is what it is between them. Since she can’t decide if she wants him to ask or not she chooses not to dwell on it. 

They sample the city on weeknights and on the weekends opt for either of their places and Amir cooks for her. He tells her stories when he cooks and she learns he comes from money without him actually saying it. What he does say is how much he loves his parents, and with time he tells her about his sister. 

It’s a Friday afternoon she takes off work early to meet him at her apartment because Hannah Rivera can make exactly one dish, sudado de pollo, and Amir wants to learn how to make it. He meets her there outside her building with his prayer rug poking out of his bag and she remembers that today he’s coming from the mosque near her place because it’s Friday and that means the congregational jumu’ah prayer replaces the typical zuhr noon prayer. She asks how it went and he pauses before answering, “Peaceful.” 

Hannah waits because she’s learned to do that with Amir. There is always more if you’re patient enough. “Prayer gave me a structure to my time before,” he says, and Hannah knows he’s talking about more than his deployment. They’ve talked around his time undercover and she can only imagine what it’s like to pray alongside men who say the same words you do to the same God you do, but who are the antithesis of everything you are doing there on your knees, side by side, praying as if brothers in the same family. 

“And now?” she asks and goes through the door he holds open for her. 

She’s gotten used to those little gestures and knows they have nothing to do with him thinking less of her. She’s been on male teams before and it’s not lost on her that if she were in the field she wouldn’t want Amir to hold doors open for. It’d mark her as different. But here in their quotidian life – temporary as it is – she finds she doesn’t mind. 

“Now, I don’t need prayer to mark the time,” he says, “Instead, it gives me the chance to consider the time I have and how I’m spending it.”

They take the flight up to Hannah’s second story apartment. “How so?” she asks. 

He considers for a moment before answering, “It’s like the difference between looking at a clock and considering how this past year has gone before you make new year’s resolutions. Both have to deal with time, but in very different ways.” 

*** 

He tells her about his sister and she tells him about Vargas. It’s over dessert Hannah bought at Whole Foods and didn’t bother to take out of the packaging before Amir comes over. She tells herself that if she were truly interested in him she’d have made the effort of appearing like she made it from scratch; therefore, she only wants them to be friends. 

Then she confesses the details of how she ended up in that ditch: the call she made that was a bad one to go in alone, the way when it’s too hot outside she recalls the smell of the mud and muck drying on her open wounds, and the way she cried in her mother’s arms because the pain was too much to hold in. 

“Hannah, I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he says. 

His choice of tense feels like a blow to her stomach. She inhales a long, sharp breath because once he puts words to it she can’t unhear them. 

This is happening to her. It happened and is happening both at the same time, and the reality that pain is like this – unbound from both time and logic – unwinds her. 

They’re sitting at her kitchen table and she doesn’t stop to think about the implications before she stands and crawls into his lap. He is just enough. His arms band around her and she presses her cheek to his neck where he smells like peppermint. She feels safe, but never overpowered there in his arms. He murmurs words to her in Arabic and she’s too upset to translate. Instead, she lets herself cry because sometimes feelings demand to be felt whether you want them or not. 

When the tears dry up, Hannah takes a deep breath and decides it’s time to apply some of those parts of who she had been in the field to this life now, this second option one. She presses her lips to his neck as if to seal the promise with herself. His hands still on her lower back and she smiles against his pulse point. 

Hannah doesn’t know if she wants to fall in love with this man or not; she knows she likely will if she lets herself. Love doesn’t belong in the field between two people like them, but Hannah is changing and as much as she misses who she used to be she recalls what Jaz said to Preach, “Being alone. Waiting for the next deployment. It used to be enough.”

So, she acts braver than she feels. That’s what she learned in order to survive in the field – it takes bravado and gumption – and Hannah’s learning that doesn’t stop being true when you come home. 

“Amir, will you go out with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this before I've posted Chapter 9 of Her Guys - know it'll be posted late tonight. 
> 
> Thank you to the fab five - Logictron, UndercoverWaterMoon, ICarryYourHeart, and Chibisere23, who held my hand and make me smile.


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